Punishment
by Horsegirl01
Summary: For all the Legolas angst readers who dislike the evil Thranduil stories…
1. Chapter 1

Summary: For all the Legolas angst readers who dislike the evil Thranduil stories…

Authors Note: This is one of the first stories I ever wrote for LOTR fanfiction, written for my own enjoyment. It is just a sappy little excerpt for those opposed to evil Thranduil. I hope you enjoy! :)

* * *

 **Punishment**

The King paced back and forth in front of the three young warriors who were standing wearily in a straight line in the throne room. The one in charge had just reported a rather dreadful loss, and the King was very upset. He began to ask questions about the battle decisions and tactical maneuvers. Most of the time the young captain answered, but a few times his warriors chimed in with their thoughts.

To the young captain, who happened to be the King's only son and barely out of childhood, the King kept sending him disapproving looks. The young captain began to feel worried and stressed. He had gone over the battle a million times in his head, trying to figure out what went wrong and what he could have done differently. He still did not know what had gone so wrong to cause so many injuries, so he did not know why the King would be sending him these looks. A bead of sweat trickled down the side of his face and he risked a quick swipe at the evidence when his father's back was turned, quickly returning his hand to his side as he continued to stand respectfully.

His father finally turned back to face the three warriors, looking at each of them. "I want you to alert the Commander of this situation and tell him to prepare for further battle immediately. I also want another patrol sent out this afternoon."

The young captain and the two warriors with him all bowed. "Yes, Hir nin," answered the blonde captain. "I will see to it immediately." Thinking that they were dismissed, he bowed, then turned and began to lead the way out of the throne room.

"Legolas!" a stern voice stopped him in his tracks, and a slight shudder passed through the young elf at the sound of stark disapproval that he imagined he heard in the King's voice.

He turned back to face his father, as the other warriors did likewise, nervous that they had broken some type of protocol. The King, Thranduil, caught the eyes of Legolas' second, Imaldeus. "You will deliver the message, Imaldeus, if you would be so kind." He turned back to Legolas, ignoring the other soldiers' suddenly worried looks. "Legolas, you will come with me. Now!" With that, he swept out of the room in a swirl of robes, obviously expecting his son to immediately follow after him, which he did after a confused look at the other two warriors. He tried to manage a slight smile of reassurance as he saw the frantic worry on their faces.

"It will be fine," he whispered as he hurried after his father.

He caught up to his father near the door to his chambers. The King slowed long enough to grab hold of his son's arm and lead him the rest of the way towards the room. Legolas tried to ignore the sense of foreboding that he had committed some horrible crime and was going to be severely punished, choosing instead to focus on the comforting touch of his father's hand on his arm for the little time he might have left to enjoy it.

When they got to the King's chambers, he was preemptively ushered in as Thranduil slammed the great doors closed behind him. He turned towards his son, giving him the same look he had been giving him in the throne room. Legolas' heart dropped. He HAD done something wrong. If only he knew what it was! "Hir nin?" he finally stuttered as the King remained silent for a moment, simply looking at him. "Have I done something to displease you?"

Thranduil's eyes flickered with a strange light as he looked at his son. "I am nearly always pleased with you, child. You make me proud many times." Legolas felt a slight sense of relief at these words, but realized that the king had managed to avoid quite answering the question. Thranduil stepped forward then, drawing close enough that his son could smell the unique woodsy smell belonging to his father.

The elder elf reached forward and began to unfasten the clasps of the young elf's light armor. Legolas' heart began to pound at his father's unusual behavior. There was still that look of disapproval on his father's face; at least it appeared that way to him. He gazed at his father's features for a moment, feeling saddened that he had somehow disappointed his beloved father. "A-are you going to beat me, Ada?" he finally braved in a voice filled with sadness and confusion.

Thranduil jerked his head up then, though he still continued with what he was doing. "Why on earth would you ask such a thing of me, child? Why would I beat you?"

Legolas continued to look at him searchingly. "Because you are angry with me about something, and b-because you are removing my tunic…" For indeed, Thranduil had finished with the armor, removing it and letting it slide to the ground. He had then begun to work on the clasps of the young elf's tunic.

He stopped now at the young elf's words though, placing his hands on the young one's shoulders and looking him in the eyes. "I am not displeased with you, Legolas. I am upset that you chose to hide something from me, and I am removing your tunic so that I can tend to what you have hidden myself."

Legolas flushed a bright red, lowering his face immediately. He should have known he could hide nothing from his wise father. "It's not that bad…" he protested. "Some of the others were hurt much worse. It does not even need tending."

Thranduil frowned then. "I will be the judge of that, penneth. You know better than to hide your injuries from me. You should have gone straight to the healers. I could have heard your report from the healing ward, or your second could have delivered it."

Legolas chewed on his lip uncomfortably, hoping that he hadn't displeased his father too greatly. Big, blue eyes filled with remorse looked up at Thranduil. "I'm sorry, Ada…" he whispered miserably. "Forgive me…"

Thranduil wrapped him in a loose hug, his heart melting at the pitiful look. "Oh, child. Why do you continue to worry me so? Of course I forgive you, penneth. I am simply worried about you." He pulled back then, smiling at his young son. He then went back to unfastening the tunic, finally achieving his goal and slipping it to the floor as well. His smile immediately vanished when he saw the injuries on the young elf.

An obvious stab wound was covered with hastily-strewn bandages, and his entire torso was bruised from the battle. He sighed, looking back up at his son, who was looking quite guilty. "This is not what I consider minor, child." he said sternly, but relented when he saw the etching of pain in the blue eyes and the dark circles from exhaustion, softening his voice. "Come, penneth. I will tend you."

And he did just that after leading the young elf into his own bed chambers and laying him down gently on the bed. He unwrapped the bandage, cleaned and stitched the wound, and sent the guard for some herbs that he then applied to the wound and to the dark bruises. After re-bandaging the wound, he pulled his son's velvet boots off, leaving him in leggings and stockinged feet, and covered him gently with several blankets. After helping him drink some healing tea that would send him into a restful sleep, he helped the young elf lay back down, kissing him tenderly on the forehead and smoothing back the soft, blonde hair.

Legolas looked up at him with relief and love. "Hannon le, Ada." He said softly, "Amin meleth le."

Thranduil smiled down at his precious elfling. Beating indeed! Where in Arda did his son get such ideas? "Amin meleth le, ion nin." He said gently as the young elf's eyes closed wearily and the sleeping drug took hold.

* * *

 **Elvish Translations:**

 _Penneth_ – Young one

 _Hir nin_ – My Lord

 _Hannon le._ – Thank you.

 _Amin meleth le._ – I love you.

 _Ion nin_ – My son

 _Ada_ – Father/Daddy


	2. Chapter 2

Summary: For all the Legolas angst readers who dislike the evil Thranduil stories…

Authors Note: My friend, Schattenjagd , suggested this be continued, so as my first continued one-shot, this is for you, mellon nin!

 **Resolution**

The King eased back into his bed chambers. He had been gone for almost an hour taking care of an urgent matter with a patrol and giving detailed instructions to his aide, Galion, and the military commander. He had canceled the afternoon and evening meetings for today, and was considering canceling them for tomorrow as well. Or, he might give Galion instructions to oversee them in his stead in order to alleviate any further delay. Otherwise he would be overwhelmed with piled-up work when he returned.

He planned to be occupied with other matters this day, and would see how it went as to what he would choose on the morrow. It seemed that another issue had taken grave precedence over his time just now, and one that left him quite confused, a state of being that rarely affected the confident and wise King of the woodland realm.

Closing the door softly behind him and locking it securely, he set his cloak aside on the nearby couch and proceeded into the sleeping area of his chambers. A slight smile graced his lips as he viewed the younger being still sound asleep in his own bed. His young son, his Legolas, he thought fondly as he continued over to the bed and sat down in the large chair that was scooted as close as possible to the sleeping elf. His eyes were also filled with concern, however, and he reached over and felt of the soft cheek—gently so as not to wake the sleeping elf. He frowned at the beginnings of heat, indicating that a fever and infection was in the offing. Allowing one thumb to brush all the way down the young face to the jawline, he sighed and moved his hand away, lost in thoughts as he settled back into the chair in preparation of a long night of watching over his loved one.

The biggest question in his mind at the moment was; WHY? Not WHY he had been injured. That was self-explanatory when one was in the Mirkwood military, a land sadly now riddled with shadow and dark creatures like spiders and orcs. No. The question paramount in Thranduil's mind was; Why? Why had his young son's first thought been that his father was going to beat him?

'Have I been such a terrible father,' Thranduil agonized, 'that he thinks I will harshly punish him over any potential infraction? When 'have' I ever punished him harshly? I have NOT! I have NEVER laid a hand on him in anger! I cannot understand this! The only time that I can remember giving him any inclination that I might possibly do so was when he was younger and I made that silly story up about thieves getting their hands cut off. And yet, I explained it all to him afterwards and he seemed to understand that I never would have followed through with it. How could that still rest so heavily with him as to cause him distress these many years hence? Nay! It must be something else. But what? What have I done to give him such an impression?'

Thranduil sighed heavily and rose to go into his sitting area and pour himself a glass of wine. Grabbing a book from the heavily filled bookcase, he went back to his chair beside his son and sat back down, sipping slowly on his wine and turning the book over restlessly in his other hand, debating on whether he should read it or not. He finally gave up and set it aside. His thoughts were too troubled for him to concentrate on some meaningless story at the moment. He looked over at Legolas, who showed no signs of awakening. He wanted nothing more than to have a long conversation with his elfling about why he would think so ill of his father, but he knew it might be a while and he would need to have patience.

Holding his wine in one hand he rested his other elbow on the chair's arm and cupped his chin in his hand, an unusual posture for the graceful elf. 'Has there been 'any' other times where I might have given him such an impression?' he worried. 'Tis not good for elflings to carry such stress. Their feas are too delicate for such a thing. Hmmmm… But wait! There was that one time a few years ago when that despicable weapons master punished him without my knowledge and permission. It took Legolas many months to get over that. But I fired him instantly and sent him away from our realm, so I know he is no longer causing Legolas any issues. Besides, it was not 'I' that punished him. Surely he should know not to relate that experience to me?' The poor frazzled king rubbed his head then, downing his glass of wine and setting it aside, then getting up and beginning to pace around his room, casting anxious glances over at the unsuspecting elf in his bed as he did so.

Thranduil even entertained the thought for half a minute of waking his elfling up just so that he could get some answers. This was no small matter, after all! Not when your only beloved child thought you were going to whisk him away and brutally beat him over some perceived failure! At first, he had merely thought it amusing, but the more he had thought about it during his short time away from Legolas, the more worried he had grown. Now he could no longer get it out of his mind.

Legolas moved his head just then and let out a soft groan of pain, causing the King to jerk his head around and move swiftly back to the bedside. As Legolas moved his head once more, Thranduil placed a gentle hand against his cheek. "Legolas… ion nin… awaken, child. Ada is here."

At the sound of the soothing and familiar voice, two blue eyes cracked open and blinked heavily against the sudden brightness. Thranduil winced inwardly at the pain shining liberally in the blue depths. He brushed his ion's blonde hair back in a soothing gesture and mustered up a smile from somewhere within his worried mind for his injured son.

"A-Ada?" came the weak voice as the young elf struggled to gain his bearings.

"Aye, ion nin, I am here." Thranduil soothed. He reached over and poured a cup of water from the jug on the side table, helping his son to raise his head enough to drink a few sips as he held the cup for him.

The water helped his voice a little, and Legolas sounded stronger the next time he spoke. "Ada… why am I in your room?"

Thranduil chuckled. "Do you not remember, ion nin? I treated your injuries here and put you to bed to rest for a while." Thranduil had to almost bite his tongue in order not to add, 'and you thought I was going to beat you…' Now was not the time, however. Legolas had just woken up and was entirely too weak for his father's liking. He needed to at least allow him time to fully regain consciousness and remember all the details of what had happened.

Legolas blinked, then awareness swept over his fair, young features. "Oh…" he blushed, "I remember now… I am sorry, Ada…" He lowered his head, obviously embarrassed.

Thranduil raised an eyebrow, wondering if Legolas had provided the opening he needed already. "What are you apologizing for, Legolas?" he asked softly.

The earnest young face looked up at him, eyes shining with anxiety. "Because I tried to hide my injuries from you and made you upset, Ada…" the still weakened voice trailed off, and Thranduil had to wonder if Legolas still retained some fear of punishment from the way he was acting and apologizing.

'And he did not even mention the fact that he thought I was going to beat him,' he scoffed to himself, mentally kicking himself for getting his hopes up. 'Should I go ahead and bring it up now?' he wondered to himself as he placed the cup back on the bed table and reached forward to grasp the slender hands in his own larger ones. 'Or will it just upset him further? And yet, perhaps this is the best time to bring it up after all. He is weary and in pain and not exactly thinking of guarding his words and thoughts… Yes… I believe it might be best after all…'

With that thought in mind, Thranduil met and held his elfling's anxious gaze, his own face serious. "I am not upset with you, child, for being injured…" he began, but was interrupted.

"I know THAT, Ada," Legolas chuckled unexpectedly. "You certainly have proved that much…" he swept a hand over the bed as though his being there was self-explanatory. "You were upset about me hiding it from you, though. I know you were…" He looked sad again, and Thranduil's eyes widened. The thought once more swept through his mind that something was not quite right here. He still could not think of a single reason why Legolas would think this way towards him.

"Legolas…" he began again, "hush for a moment, child, and allow me to finish..."

Legolas blushed again and tried to pull his hands away, but Thranduil's grip only tightened. "Nay, little one, hear me out, saes. I was not upset about your injuries. What upset me the most was the fact that you actually thought I was going to beat you for some self-imposed infraction during the patrol… not to mention the fact that you would think I was going to beat you at all…"

Legolas' blue eyes widened to an impossible size in disbelief. This was apparently not what he had been expecting at all. Thranduil took advantage of the opportunity and jumped right in. "Why, Legolas? What have I done to make you think I would ever beat you at all? Have I ever laid a hand on you in anger?"

Legolas paled and seemed to shrink further back into his bed as he thought for a moment. "N-nay, Ada… you have never done so…"

"Then why, child? Do you not know how much I love you by now? Saes, help me to understand what I have done to lead you to believe such a think so that I may repair the damage now…"

Large blue eyes suddenly filled up with moisture as Legolas blinked rapidly and lowered his head. His father's despair and honesty appeared to be upsetting him, and Thranduil wondered if he should perhaps not have pushed this far yet after all. Perhaps his elfling was just too ill to handle the matter at the moment. He was almost ready to call the entire conversation off and calm the child down when Legolas raised his head once more, tear-filled eyes meeting his confused green ones.

"Ada…" he started, then stopped for a moment, blinking back tears once more and attempting to gather his emotions. "Ada… you have never laid a hand on me as yet…" When he stopped again Thranduil could feel his heart drop at the hidden accusation behind the words. "But, Ada, you are almost always upset and 'seem' angry when you are around me. I never really know any more if you are really angry at me or angry at something else… And then… and then there is Astaldo…"

Thranduil's ears perked up. "What about Astaldo?" he asked, his voice growing stern. Astaldo was a servant in the king's household, one that was always around and in the middle of things. Thranduil could find no fault in his work, but there had always been some slight hesitation on growing any closer with the elf, some small warning in the back of his head that all was perhaps not right with the elf. He had never found any proof of such a warning so had ignored it for the most part.

Legolas grew nervous, lowering his head once more and clutching at the bedcovers while still in Thranduil's tight grip. "Well… it is just that he always tells me you are going to beat me. He said that you have flogged hundreds—nay, thousands—of warriors before for small infractions, and that you would probably have to make a stronger example of me since I am your son and punish me even more harshly…" his voice trailed off and the blue eyes closed, possibly to escape the anger he thought he would receive from Thranduil.

The poor king was too stunned to react for a moment. Finally, the answer he had been waiting for! And yet, it was so completely NOT what he had expected that he had not the slightest idea how to handle it for a moment. He blinked, then leaned forward, loosening his grip from Legolas' hands and reaching up a hand to cup his son's chin. He lifted the young face back up to meet his gaze once more. "Legolas! Ah, child… how I wish you had come to me with this before… Astaldo has been lying to you! I have never flogged or physically punished a warrior before in my entire reign as king! Think, elfling! Have you ever heard another soldier speak about this matter?"

Legolas looked surprised. "N-nay… but then again, I did not think any would 'want' to speak about it either. I know I would not if it happened to me…"

Thranduil frowned. "Rest assured, ion nin, I do not believe Astaldo will be with us for much longer… but can you tell me how long he has been feeding you such lies?"

Legolas flushed once more, but was unable to lower his head this time due to the strong grip Thranduil had on his chin. "Many years…" he finally whispered. "He used to tell me the same thing when I was younger and would commit some small mischief in the castle…"

Thranduil could not help it. He gaped in shock. Was this why Legolas had been so quick to believe the 'hands getting cut off' business so many years ago? Astaldo had been with them back then as well. He asked his son and Legolas nodded in acquiescence. Astaldo had been warning him about potential punishments even back then. No wonder Legolas was so nervous about getting punished! Thranduil felt a wave of discouragement sweep over him suddenly. All these years and potential opportunities to develop a deeper bond with his son had been tossed away because he had failed to act on his suspicions about a servant? 'Ai, Valar,' he thought in misery. 'My poor elfling!'

Thranduil leaned over and scooped a surprised Legolas up into an embrace, hugging him tightly against his firm chest. "Goheno nin, Legolas. Goheno nin. I should never have allowed an elf like that into our household. I should have made sure I knew what was going on much better than I did… I hope you can forgive me, son, and I hope that you will believe me when I say I would never, NEVER punish you in such a manner!"

Legolas seemed to hesitate for a moment, then hugged his father back, burying his heated face in his father's warm shoulder. They sat like that for a moment, enjoying the rare closeness, then Legolas pulled back a little, his face shining with a happiness and confidence that Thranduil could not remember seeing for a very long time, if ever. "Oh, Ada!" he said happily. "You have no idea how nice it is to hear you say that! I will have to let my friends that were with me today know as well. I fear they thought you were whisking me away for something harsh as well…"

Thranduil was beginning to fear that he would never fully know everything that was happening around him. How could he have missed so many signs before that something was not right? "Do please, ion," he said drolly, wondering just what type of reputation he held in his own realm.

"Oh, and… Ada?" Legolas was anxious again.

"What is it, elfling?" his father asked gently, eager to offset any hint that he might be upset.

"Maybe… maybe it would help if you would talk to me more about why you seem upset or what you are planning to do…" Legolas lowered his gaze. "You did 'seem' very upset earlier, Ada," he insisted as he once more played with the coverlet.

"Hmmm," Thranduil thought about it carefully and realized that perhaps he was still at fault in the matter, since he did not always properly communicate his plans and ideas to his young son. He could see how his silence might sometimes be construed as anger. He nodded slowly. "Yes, I believe you might be right, little one," he agreed. "I will do my best to think more carefully from now on when it comes to these matters, Legolas. But you must make me a promise also… promise me that you will ask me if you are ever in doubt about anything. I am speechless at the fact that you thought I was flogging my own warriors all these years…"

Legolas grinned. The matter seemed a little silly looking at it from a different viewpoint now. Perhaps they had both been failing to communicate properly. Legolas winced then as his chest wound sent a shooting wave of pain through his body. Not missing the look, Thranduil lowered his son gently back down against the pillows. "Rest now, elfling," he said, smiling at his young son. "We have much time to finish this discussion, but for now you need to recover."

Legolas smiled back as his eyes began to drift shut against his will. The fever was growing and sending waves of weariness into his body and mind. He reached out for his father's hand as he fell into a peaceful slumber, his eyes closed all the way, which was unusual in an elf.

Thranduil sighed as he watched over his young son once more, knowing that the next awakening would require a change of bandages and some tea for fighting fever. Beating indeed! At least now he knew where his son had gotten such an idea!

 **Elvish Translations:**

 _Goheno nin_ – Forgive me.

 _Saes_ – Please

 _Ion nin_ – My son

 _Ada_ – Father/Daddy


	3. Chapter 3

Authors Note: Originally this had been intended as a one shot, but thanks to my friend, Schattenjagd , who suggested this be continued, I have added to the plotline and have more in mind as well to continue it. I apologize for the long delay. I never intended multi-chapters in my stories as the life of a single mom can be overwhelmingly hectic at times and I have a difficult time writing regularly. For all the readers who are still around and read it, a great big "Thank You" for reading and reviewing on my stories. Also, to those anonymous reviewers who so kindly stuck up for me a while back, a great big "Thank You" as well. I wish I could have replied to each of you individually, but you commented as guests. Hopefully the rest of the story will come much sooner than this chapter did!

Rating: K+ for descriptions of injuries and treatments.

Fever!

Long into the night Thranduil watched over his injured son, giving him water and comfort during the few times he was actually awake and cognizant, along with special pain-killing herbs and medicine to fight infection. At other times when Legolas was sleeping he would bath his forehead in cool water, change his bandages, and sit beside him holding his hand and singing softly as he slept. More oft than not he found himself repeating songs from when Legolas had been a little elfling, bringing back nostalgic memories of when his son was still young enough to rock and sing to sleep and keep safely within his grasp. How he wish he did not have to send him out to face danger at such a young age.

As he thought back over the last few years that his son had been forced to join the patrols and add his significant weaponry skills to the Mirkwood military, Thranduil felt a wave of something very close to jealousy spike through his heart as he thought about how Imladris did not have to fight these daily battles and could be generous and sparing with their elflings' childhoods. He hated having to watch his too-young elfling come home with injuries and scars both physical and emotional.

Ah well, it was no use dwelling on what could not be changed. As long as the shadow persevered, he had little choice in the matter. He wondered if he should send Legolas to Imladris for a while though, so that he could get a nice rest, especially after this latest bout of injuries. He did not seem to be healing as well as usual, and he was certain that the injury was getting infected already…

Right before the sun crept over the horizon to greet the new day, Legolas let out a soft groan of pain, surprising Thranduil. He was rarely verbal with his pain, and Thranduil instantly was at his son's side, laying a gentle hand on his forehead. He frowned at the heat radiating off of the pale brow.

Infection, then. It was as he feared. He grabbed the cloth he had set aside during the night and soaked it once more in the bowl of cool water on the nightstand, draining it out and laying it against the heated flesh of his son's brow. Legolas groaned once more, tossing his head and trying to remove the cold sensation from his head.

"Shhh, ion-nin. I have you. All is well…" Thranduil tried to soothe the distraught young elf, laying his other hand on the youth's chest and sending waves of healing strength through the lithe form. Though not as much as what Elrond might have accomplished, it was enough to relax the young warrior prince and bring some semblance of awareness back to him.

"A-ada? I do not understand… why do I feel so strange? What has happened?" Legolas reached a hand up weakly to clasp his father's tunic sleeve.

Thranduil laid aside the cloth and placed his hand over his son's. "You are injured, child. Do you not remember?"

Legolas winced as his memory began to creep back, though all was still a bit foggy to him. "Aye… sorry, Adar…" he muttered as he remembered that he had tried to hide his injuries from his beloved father and how disappointed he had been in him.

"Hush, penneth," Thranduil soothed, clasping his son's heated head in his hands and placing a gentle kiss on his brow. "There is no need to apologize, Legolas. Your wound is infected and has given you a high fever. I fear that I am going to have to seek out a healer after all. I wished to wait until you had awoken, however, knowing your propensity for disliking healers…"

Legolas winced once more, a look of despair crossing his fair face. "Nay, Adar… you are an excellent healer. Why cannot you help me instead?"

Thranduil groaned inwardly at the pleading look, wishing he _could_ help his son in this matter. "I'm sorry, child. I'm not nearly good enough for an injury such as this, and I dare not take any chances. I will choose Nimbrethil however. You seem to like him well enough."

Legolas sighed, realizing his 'look' would accomplish naught in this case and giving in gracefully, almost too gracefully to his father's watchful eyes. "Aye… I will take Nimbrethil. He is good and kind…"

"And the same as an uncle to you," Thranduil smirked, "one that spoils you at every opportunity…"

Legolas looked sheepish. "And that…"

Thranduil smiled, happy that his son was well enough to have this discussion at all. He could tell the fever was rising, however, from the bright red spots on Legolas' cheeks and the thin bead of sweat on his forehead. Elves did not generally sweat at all, so it was a fine indicator of something seriously wrong. He rose, patting the hand gently that still held onto his cloak. Legolas almost reluctantly released his grip, pulling his hand under the covers as he shivered. Thranduil flashed him another comforting smile and slipped quickly out of his chambers to alert the guard outside to fetch a healer. He then came back in and resumed his spot beside Legolas, helping him with a glass of water before covering him back up to rest.

As Thranduil smoothed a slender hand soothingly over his son's forehead and hair, Legolas closed his eyes and sighed. "Hannon le, Ada," he breathed wearily, snuggling under the blanket in an attempt to stop shivering. Thranduil began to sing one of the old elvish tree songs to his son to distract him, but was interrupted by an auburn-haired elf bursting through the door in a rather inappropriate manner, though excusable under the circumstances, piercing green eyes sharp with concern. His fair face was flushed with worry and breathlessness, his long hair haphazardly tied back in the manner of the elven healers as though he had tied it in haste. He had in one hand his healer's bag, and he barely took the time to close the door behind him, showing the messenger guard peering in for a glimpse of his prince, concern on his face as well.

Thranduil could not fault either for their proprietary behavior, both having watched Legolas grow from a baby elf and having spent much time caring for him. He would have to remember to let the guard, Nardol, know how Legolas was doing… His gaze turned to Nimbrethil, who was already perched on the side of the bed checking over Legolas, taking his vitals, frowning at the heat he felt as he smoothed a gentle hand over the elfling's forehead, then lifting up his shirt to examine the carefully placed bandages beneath.

Legolas opened his eyes at the ministrations, flashing a weak smile at the healer he knew so well. "Hello, Uncle," he said softly, reaching out a hand to grab Nimbrethil's robe sleeve.

Nimbrethil smiled, making a valiant attempt to cover up his worry from the elfling who knew him so well. He stopped for a moment and reached up a hand to smooth back some stray hair from Legolas' forehead. "Hello, elfling… looks like you've been offering yourself up for shooting practice again…"

Legolas made a movement of his lips that was half grimace, half smile. "Aye..." he whispered softly. "Sorry, Uncle. I could not resist…"

Nimbrethil smiled sadly at the elfling's ability to offer humor even when in the throes of what was a dangerously high fever. He went back to loosening the bandages and checking the wound over carefully, nearly sending Legolas back into oblivion from his poking and prodding, despite his gentle touch. The healer frowned as he turned back to an anxious Thranduil. "It is badly infected and will need additional treatment. It may be painful," he warned then, "and I dare not give him anything for the pain with a fever so high. I will, however, give him something that will lower the fever and hopefully help to fight off the infection."

Thranduil nodded, sadness in his eyes at his elfling's suffering. "Do what you must."

Legolas turned his head sideways and lowered his gaze immediately at Thranduil's words, staring dully at the sheet he was lying on as though it held something fascinating on the material. His face had paled considerably, and the astute king noticed his young son's reaction instantly, sitting down at the head of the bed and tilting Legolas' head back towards him with one hand under his chin. "What is it, elfling?" he asked softly, his eyes filled with concern.

Legolas flushed and tried to avert his gaze again, but Thranduil would not allow him to do so. "Nay, penneth. Did we not have a nice discussion earlier? I thought we had decided to be more honest and forthcoming with each other from now on… If something is the matter, I would have you tell it."

Biting his lip, the young prince met his father's eyes with large blue ones filled with misery. "You do not mind…" he started, then stopped for a moment to draw in a shuddering breath before starting again. "You do not mind… if this hurts me…" He managed to evade Thranduil's hardening gaze then by closing his eyes against the perceived onslaught of anger he felt was forthcoming.

Thranduil's eyes widened and his expression turned grim. Apparently, there was much more discussion to be had, and perhaps even more action, before his young son would not think his father wished to hurt him. He frowned, squeezing Legolas' chin until the younger elf opened his eyes once more. Nimbrethil, who had been waiting at the end of the bed for the royals to finish their discussion, hoping the king would help soothe the sickened child, made a sudden movement forward, his hand edging out in front of him as though he was going to pull the king away. He saw Thranduil shoot him a warning glare, the type that no one messes with unless they wish to be thrown into the southern border patrol for the next one hundred years, and pulled his hand back to rest in his lap.

"Legolas…!" Thranduil said warningly. "I have already told you, what you believed to be true has been a misguided farce all along. "Do not belittle me in such a way! I do not wish you to hurt at all, penneth, and I think if you search deep in your heart you will see this is true. You heard Nimbrethil, however. This treatment is necessary or you will become even sicker. I only wish you better, no matter how painful the treatment may be for a time. Do you understand, little one?"

Embarrassed and exhausted, Legolas tried to pull his head away from the tight grip on his face, a lone tear trickling down a too-pale cheek. The young elf was beginning to realize he was overreacting, but was too unstable from his high fever to think rationally at the moment. Thranduil, recognizing that his young son had reached his limits on what he could process, sighed lightly, reaching over and pulling him gently into an embrace, ignoring the dark glare Nimbrethil shot him.

"Thranduil…saes…his injuries…!" The distraught healer began to wring his hands together.

Thranduil merely held his son for a moment, pressing the younger's head into his own strong shoulder and smoothing back the blonde hair on the back of his head with a familiar and comforting hand. Legolas reached up and clutched his father's tunic front almost desperately. "I am sorry, Adar," he whispered, his voice muffled from the cloth on Thranduil's shoulder.

"Nay, little one. Do not fret. Let us get this over with, shall we? Then you can rest and start healing properly. Everything else can wait." Thranduil pulled back, laying the young prince ever so carefully back against the pillows. He smiled down at the weakened young warrior, taking a thumb and brushing away the tear still on Legolas' cheek, then holding his cheek for a moment. "I will be right here, Legolas. You may break Ada's hand if it is necessary to help you through the treatment."

Legolas laughed lightly, making the spacious, darkened room instantly brighter and causing the elder elves' eyes to light up happily, overjoyed to see the younger elf forget his pain for even a moment.

Nimbrethil grinned at his young patient fondly, squeezing Legolas' knee, then patting it. He caught Legolas' eyes, his expression turning serious. "You should probably take your Ada up on his offer, penneth. He will need to hold your arms steady as well, for I must not have any distractions, no matter how painful it becomes."

Legolas nodded, a defeated look spreading over his fair features that nearly broke the elder elves' hearts. Nimbrethil swallowed against the guilt that rushed through his chest as he quickly rose and poured some water from the large pot over the crackling flames in the fireplace into a small bowl, then brought it and some cloths and various healing supplies back over to the bed, setting them down beside the young elf's chest as he sat down near Legolas' waist for ease of access to the wound. Thranduil leaned over and held Legolas firmly by the upper arms after bending them at the elbow and laying them facing up towards the top of the bed. That way he was leaning over both portions of the arm, making it more difficult for Legolas to reach the healer if he started flailing in pain.

Seeing that the king was holding his son securely, Nimbrethil sighed, leaning over and placing a cloth he had dipped in the scalding water to the young elf's infected wound on his chest. "Forgive me, little one," he said woefully, then lowered the cloth against the inflamed skin.

Legolas screamed, his entire upper body rising up off the bed in agony as he thrashed and tried to turn to get away from the scalding heat on infected, painful skin. Thranduil tightened his grip on his son, pressing his lips so firmly together that they turned white, while trying to avoid looking at Legolas' chest in fear that he would fling the healer away from his son to keep him from any more pain. Calming a little after the initial shock, Legolas bit hard into his lower lip, trying desperately to hold back any more screams so that he would not look weak in front of the older elves, but could not prevent his body from trying to shrink back against the bed to escape what Nimbrethil was doing.

The poor, distraught healer tried to hurry the process, but it took time to draw out the infection as much as it needed to be. He pressed the cloth even harder against the wound in an attempt to draw out more of the infected secretions, and his young patient let out a muffled whimper, then slumped against the bed, going completely still. Nimbrethil jerked his head up, even while still holding the cloth against the wound, piercing eyes assessing his patient. Legolas' eyes were closed and his face was as white as the sheets he was lying on. Concerned, he flashed Thranduil a look. The equally concerned father felt for a pulse on the young prince's neck, breathing a sigh of relief and nodding to his friend when he felt a weakened but steady heartbeat thrumming against the two slender fingers he was pressing against Legolas' neck.

Nimbrethil sighed as well, turning back to his work. It took another ten minutes or so before he felt satisfied at the amount of infection he had drawn out, and he found himself grateful that the young elf had passed out so that he would not have to endure more pain. There was a reason that healers should not work on their loved ones, he thought woefully as he finished placing a healing salve on the gash, leaving it open to drain and placing a light bandage over it. It was not easy at the best of times to cause one's patient pain, but when said patient was a beloved elfling that he had known since just a babe, it was nearly impossible to force oneself to carry out painful methods of treatment. He was glad it was over. He only hoped it would not be necessary again.

The distraught healer lightly rubbed some soothing salve over the rest of the bruises and scratches on his young patient's chest, then pulled up the white sheet to Legolas' neck, placing his hand for a moment against one pale cheek, as though in silent apology for the pain he had caused, his eyes filled with remorse.

Thranduil had already loosened his hold on his son's arms and placed them carefully under the sheet, gently rubbing at the spots where he had been forced to use his strength to restrain the hurting elfling. He sighed sadly, hoping he would not see bruises the next day on the slender arms of his son, yet knowing it was likely. He had just recently promised his son he would not hurt him in such a way, and now his poor son would bear bruises from his hands… He leaned over and placed a light kiss on Legolas' forehead. "Goheno nin, penneth," he whispered sadly, patting the younger elf on the shoulder over the sheet. He then rose from the bed and began to pace restlessly around the room, the worry and strain proving to be too much for his shattered nerves.

Nimbrethil busied himself with putting away the healing supplies and preparing another cup of medicinal tea for when the child awoke. He then sat down in the chair beside the bed, one hand placed lightly over the youth's heart so that he could keep a close watch on the young elf. He looked over at Thranduil, curiosity in his eyes. "I know the wound is serious, my friend, but I have rarely seen you so distraught over a battle injury. I would also wish to know about Legolas' comments to you about not caring if he was hurt… Forgive me, but something seems amiss here, and I would hear it if you would indulge me…"

Thranduil stopped his frantic pacing, glanced once more at the still unconscious elfling in his bed, then walked two steps over to the window, sitting back against the sill with his hands placed on either side of him holding onto the frame. He lowered his head for a moment, then raised it, sorrow spread liberally over his features.

Nimbrethil had been with Thranduil for centuries. He was among the few that could count themselves as friends to the reclusive king. He could see the sorrow in his friend's features, but he could also read beyond that to the extreme anger lurking in those cold, blue eyes. He raised an eyebrow and waited patiently.

His patience was rewarded when Thranduil sighed heavily, meeting his old friend's eyes as he began to explain the circumstances that had led to him discovering these particular battle wounds, along with the discovery that there was an actual reason behind Legolas' fear that his father would hurt him. When he got to the discussion with Legolas about Astaldo, Nimbrethil shot to his feet, clenching his hands together. If not for his patient, Thranduil was quite sure his old friend would have leapt out the door in search of the unaware Astaldo and given him a very rude awakening.

"How can this be, Thranduil?" Nimbrethil cried, his face filled with horror. "All these years? And we knew nothing of this? The poor child has been living in such fear and worry all this time, unable to feel secure in his familial love, because of this… this… MONSTER!"

Thranduil sighed, regret on his own face. "I do not know how we missed this, but miss it we did. We cannot undo what has happened, but it certainly does explain some of Legolas' reactions over the course of the past years… And I have punished him at times for these reactions…" The king sighed again, lowering his head, long silver-blonde hair flowing forward to halfway cover his fair features.

Nimbrethil stiffened. "What type of punishments?" he asked slowly, a suspicious look entering his eyes.

Thranduil frowned, raising an eyebrow as though daring his friend to come out and accuse him of something. "And what exactly are you thinking, "old friend"…" he said very quietly.

Nimbrethil was old, just as old as Thranduil. He was not intimidated in the least. "Exactly what you think I mean," he said just as quietly. "The child is living in fear and faring poorly, Thranduil. I wish to know why. As his healer, I demand it, as a matter of fact."

Thranduil—proper elven king though he was—literally growled then, clenching his hands into fists and standing slowly to face Nimbrethil. Nimbrethil stepped back a pace towards his young patient, stretching out a hand behind him as though to protect him from his father's rage. Thranduil, seeing his old friend's subconscious reaction, stopped cold in his tracks, his anger drifting away with the wind at the realization that the healer felt he needed to protect Thranduil's own son from him.

He sighed and turned away, running a hand through his loosened hair. His crown was set aside for now while he was with Legolas. "I am sorry, old friend," he said softly. "I understand why you are reacting that way, and in truth, I should be grateful to know that Legolas has at least one person here in the Keep that will care for him. The punishments I speak of are ones such as cleaning out the wine cellar, cleaning the stables, writing additional papers for learning, extra weapons practice… I only feel badly that the child was forced to toil so laboriously when he was perhaps ill at heart and in fear—nothing more…" The tired king turned to face the healer, who had relaxed his protective stance when Thranduil turned away and was standing beside Legolas' bed with hands clasped together in front of him, listening patiently.

Nimbrethil stepped forward then, placing his hand on Thranduil's shoulder and smiling at him. "I believe you, mellon-nin. I know that you would not harm your son. I just needed to make certain. The boy fares badly and something needs to be done. If you leave this matter unresolved and he gets injured in battle again, it may very well be the death of him because of his weakened state."

Thranduil frowned, worry once more leaping into his normally cold, grey eyes. "Is it that bad, then?" he asked softly, his tone managing to convey all of his doubts and fears in the one sentence.

Nimbrethil squeezed his shoulder, hoping to lend comfort for what must be said. "I did not wish to say anything in front of the child, but I have scarcely seen such a bad infection in an elf before. The wound was obviously left untreated for some time, which is scandalous to me. I cannot fathom how the realm's only prince could be so neglected that such a serious wound would go unnoticed by 'everyone' in the realm…"

Thranduil flushed. "I cannot answer for those on patrol with him, but I did notice the signs as soon as he returned from patrol to give me his report. I called him to my rooms and forced the discovery. He was not happy with me, I daresay…"

Nimbrethil frowned, lowering his hand from Thranduil's shoulder, walking over to the stand against the wall, and pouring himself a glass of wine from the ever-present wine-vase. He swirled it around in the cup for a moment before taking a sip, then turned back to Thranduil. "Who was present on this patrol?" he asked quietly.

The question might have seemed strange coming from a healer, but Nimbrethil had served with Thranduil at Dagorlad as his second in command. He was a fearsome warrior in his time with a quick and sharp intelligence for military matters, so Thranduil did not find it strange in the least. He merely thought for a moment before responding. "Legolas was in charge of this patrol, and he reported to me with his second, Imaldeus, along with his friend Alfirin."

"I see," said the elder healer as he sipped slowly from his wine. "It is strange that no one braved telling you about it any earlier… though perhaps if the young prince begged them to secrecy… I would be saddened to think he had feared punishment THAT badly from your hand that he would feel pressured to hide such a wound…"

Thranduil sighed, going over to pour himself another glass of wine as well, sitting down in the chair beside the fireplace as he sipped it. "I think that is the case, unfortunately. And I agree… this matter must be resolved swiftly. I had discussed it at length with Legolas. I think—I HOPE—he knows no such punishment would happen now, but if this fear has been nurtured for years, I do not know if it can truly be dismissed so easily…"

Nimbrethil glanced over at the still-unconscious Legolas, the concern clear on his fair face. "I do not think so. Much like the manner in which it has been slowly and steadily nurtured, it must be slowly and steadily dissolved." He turned to look at his old friend of the ages. "More importantly, though, is the necessity to ensure the source of this fear is eradicated…" he warned.

Thranduil smiled then, the type of smile that sent emissaries of men scurrying back to their villages, the type of smile that warned every resident of Mirkwood to stay indoors for the next week. Nimbrethil felt a light shudder run down his spine, one of heady anticipation. "Never fear," he assured his friend. "The Source will not go unpunished for long… I have given this matter much thought already. I shall think on it more tonight, but I will not allow this to stand for long. I would value your input as well, old friend, for this matter must be treated with 'special' care. I have several ideas, if you would care to hear them…"

Nimbrethil smiled then, his own smile equally disturbing. He could hardly have watched and cared over the young princeling for so long without feeling a slight desire for revenge, after all… "I would like nothing better," he assured the king, and the two discussed potential plans late into the evening, the peaceful realm unsuspecting in its slumber that their peace would soon be disturbed in more ways than one.


End file.
